It’s What I do Best
. . . join a conversation, late, catching the middle words of a discussion that waits to be rescued by my interruption, with a message that is unique.
. . . start a story, with a missing opening, for those who care to listen, who still sit in a circle of men, who wonder who the hell am I taking all those liberties, speaking the truth.
. . . smile at the confusion I have sown, knowing I have succeeded ; my point, the last words spoken, is nothing but a preemptive strike on their learned education and bullshit.
walking home
in darkly lit streets
my wife
already dreaming
of finding her Romeo